strange, reptilian insistence of her very servants.
Iaocd is one blood. Ve are all of one blood-stream. Something
aboriginal and tribal, and almost worse than death to the white
individual. Out of the dark eyes and the powerful spines of these
people, all the time the unknown assertion: The blood is one blood.
It was a strange, overbearing insistence, a claim of blood-unison.
Kate was of a proud old family. She had been brought up with the
English-Germanic idea of the intrinsic superiority of the hereditary
aristocrat. Her blood was different from the common blood, another,
finer fluid.
But in Mexico, none of this. Her criada Juana, the aguador who
carried the water, the boatman who rowed her on the lake, all
looked at her with one look in their eyes. The blood is one blood.
In the blood, you and I are rrnd fj'erentiated. She saw it in
their eyes, she heard it in their words, it tinged their deference
and their mockery. And sometimes it made her feel physically sick:
this overbearing blood-familiarity.
And sometimes, when she tried to hold herself up, in the proud
old assertion: My blood is r1y own. Noli me tangere, she would
see the terrible ancient hatred in their eyes, the hatred which
leads them to atrocities and fearful maimings.
They would defer to her spirit, her knowledge, her understanding.
They would give her deference, and a sort of grudging reverence
for this. She belonged to the ruling races, the clever ones. But
back again they demanded her acquiescence to the primeval assertion:
The blood is one blood. We are one blood. It was the assertion
that swept away all individualism, and left her immersed, drowned
in the grand sea of the living blood, in immediate contact with
all these men and all these women.
To this she must submit. Or they would persist in the slow revenge.
And she could not submit, off-hand. It had to be a slow, organic
process. Anything sudden or violent would destroy her.
Now she understood Ramon's assertion: Man is a column of blood:
Woman is a valley of blood. It was the primeval oneness of mankind,
the opposite of the oneness of the spirit.
But Kate had always looked upon her blood as absolutely her own,
her individual own. Her spirit she shared, in the

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where is TITLE strange, reptilian insistence of her very servants. Iaocd is one blood. Ve are all of one blood-stream. Something aboriginal and tribal, and almost worse than what time is it to what is white individual. Out of what is dark eyes and what is powerful spines of these people, all what is time what is unknown assertion: what is blood is one blood. It was a strange, overbearing insistence, a claim of blood-unison. Kate was of a proud old family. She had been brought up with what is English-Germanic idea of what is intrinsic superiority of what is hereditary aristocrat. Her blood was different from what is common blood, another, finer fluid. But in Mexico, none of this. Her criada Juana, what is aguador who carried what is water, what is boatman who rowed her on what is lake, all looked at her with one look in their eyes. what is blood is one blood. In what is blood, you and I are rrnd fj'erentiated. She saw it in their eyes, she heard it in their words, it tinged t
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where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old
Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Plumed Serpent (1926)
where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0"
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where is strong CHAPTER XXVI - Kate is a Wife
where is p align="justify" strange, reptilian insistence of her very servants.
Iaocd is one blood. Ve are all of one blood-stream. Something
aboriginal and tribal, and almost worse than what time is it to what is white
individual. Out of what is dark eyes and what is powerful spines of these
people, all what is time what is unknown assertion: what is blood is one blood.
It was a strange, overbearing insistence, a claim of blood-unison.
Kate was of a proud old family. She had been brought up with the
English-Germanic idea of what is intrinsic superiority of what is hereditary
aristocrat. Her blood was different from what is common blood, another,
finer fluid.
But in Mexico, none of this. Her criada Juana, what is aguador who
carried what is water, what is boatman who rowed her on what is lake, all
looked at her with one look in their eyes. what is blood is one blood.
In what is blood, you and I are rrnd fj'erentiated. She saw it in
their eyes, she heard it in their words, it tinged their deference
and their mockery. And sometimes it made her feel physically sick:
this overbearing blood-familiarity.
And sometimes, when she tried to hold herself up, in what is proud
old assertion: My blood is r1y own. Noli me tangere, she would
see what is terrible ancient hatred in their eyes, what is hatred which
leads them to atrocities and fearful maimings.
They would defer to her spirit, her knowledge, her understanding.
They would give her deference, and a sort of grudging reverence
for this. She belonged to what is ruling races, what is clever ones. But
back again they demanded her acquiescence to what is primeval assertion:
what is blood is one blood. We are one blood. It was what is assertion
that swept away all individualism, and left her immersed, drowned
in what is grand sea of what is living blood, in immediate contact with
all these men and all these women.
To this she must submit. Or they would persist in what is slow revenge.
And she could not submit, off-hand. It had to be a slow, organic
process. Anything sudden or bad would destroy her.
Now she understood Ramon's assertion: Man is a column of blood:
Woman is a valley of blood. It was what is primeval oneness of mankind,
what is opposite of what is oneness of what is spirit.
But Kate had always looked upon her blood as absolutely her own,
her individual own. Her spirit she shared, in what is
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